


The wolf and his moon

by WinterFir



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Established Relationship, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Is In Love, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, M/M, No character bashing, Not Beta Read, Past Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, thinking about love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:14:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27882805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinterFir/pseuds/WinterFir
Summary: Jaskier and Yennefer were as different as the moon and the sun. And yet Geralt loves them both. But the love that he felt for them was different, for they were different people and had different places in his life.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 6
Kudos: 43





	The wolf and his moon

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone, just a little thing that I wrote. Jaskier and Geralt are in a relationship, Geralt isn't involved romantically or sexually with Yen, so don't worry about any of that! Enjoy and leave a comment telling me what you thought<33

Jaskier and Yennefer were as different as the moon and the sun. And yet Geralt loves them both. But the love that he felt for them was different, for they were different people and had different places in his life.

Geralt wasn’t a poet, he lacked Jaskier’s finesse when it came to words, he couldn’t describe the world and his feelings with beautiful and well put together phrases and rhymes. He also wasn’t like Yennefer, who while also not being gifted in the way of language like the bard, always seemed to know what to say. Yennefer had a destructive way with words, one careful little phrase from her had often the same weight as one swing of a sword.

But even if Geralt had their ability to manipulate language to his will, he would still struggle to explain that there was no need for the hurt in Jaskier’s eyes every time they encountered Yen on the Path. There was no need for the fight of barbed words that cut like daggers and left both the bard and the sorceress wounded and defensive. Because that was what happened every time, for all that Yennefer was a powerful sorceress even she couldn’t escape Jaskier viciousness, the bard wore a sweet smile on his face but he had violence in him, lurking in the dark blue of his eyes. And that is where the differences started, the sun and moon of Geralt’s life. Yennefer was the sun and Jaskier the moon.

Yennefer was all warm tones, the colors of late summer in Geralt’s mind, with dark violet eyes the same shade of the heavy and elaborate cloaks of the royal members or maybe the sky in the warm and lazy afternoons when the sun was setting. Her skin was warm and kissed by the sun, her hair dark and long flowing in the air like raven feathers, she was a goddess of the earth with magic like fire, wild, uncontrollable, but often she would soften her touch, reach out a hand to heal a wound and it would feel like an embrace.

Jaskier was the moon, with his winter tones. The pale skin, that in its most fragile places let the blue of the veins appear, it should make him look frail and sickly, but it didn’t. The blue eyes that shone and sparkle while in the deep, shadows would sometimes linger, Geralt had only seen such blue in one place, in the north, where deep rivers froze in the winter and the ice had a blue tinge hiding the strong current underneath that would drag a man for miles and drown him. Jaskier reminds him of the winter tales his mother would tell him before she had left him on a road for Vesemir to find, the tales of fae creatures made of ice and snow, that would cause avalanches and blizzards with a song, and freeze their enemies with one look. His little lark’s songs certainly had power, they may not cause avalanches, but they are more than capable of causing storms. How many minds had been changed since Jaskier had started to sing about witchers? How many witchers' deaths had been avoided all because of a song that made the people toss coins instead of taking up arms at the sight of a witcher?

Geralt had a dept to Jaskier, one that he could never repay. All witchers had a dept to the bard.

Yennefer’s scent was that of lilac and gooseberries, floral and spicy at the same time. And while Geralt loved that smell, part of him would recoil from it. Would remember the claws of Yen’s magic, trapping him and controlling him to eliminate her enemies. Geralt loved Yennefer, but it was like the love he felt for Jaskier. It was all-consuming in a way, fast, lustful, rough, if they were to be together, they would destroy each other, there were too many crossed lines between them, too many times when they took from each other without mercy. It wasn’t at all soft and safe like it was with Jaskier, Yennefer was the sun and if you look directly at it you will blind yourself.

But one could admire the moon all they wanted, to look at it every night and mourn its absence in the dark and oppressive nights of the new moon. Geralt’s love for his bard was soft, sweet, the lark was his companion, always there unless Geralt was careless and foolish to send him away. Oh…but when he did because there were times when he did, he would mourn the absence of his songbird. He was a foolish old wolf, just like Jaskier said, he couldn’t accept one tiny morsel of happiness without trying to tear it down. But like any wolf, he would chase the moon. He would go after his wildflower every time, and in his clumsy way, he would beg forgiveness. He would ask that his bard came with him once again.

But those days, of cruel words and harsh goodbyes, are now something of the past. Geralt still had his moments of foolishness, but these days Jaskier would stand his ground, with eyes sparkling like diamonds with unshed tears and lips pressed tighter in a tight line, he would stand in the face of Geralt’s fear. Because that was the problem was it? Geralt was afraid, afraid that something would happen to his lark, that he would be too slow and unable to save this precious life. Jaskier wasn’t a witcher, he didn’t have mutations that could save him or destructive magic like Yennefer And so, Geralt was afraid and he hated it. He hated it and he used that hate to fuel his anger at the world and at his bard for getting under his skin, for holding his heart in his careful and gentle hands.

Whoever had said that witchers couldn’t feel, lied.

If Geralt was good with words, he would tell Jaskier all of this. He would tell him how there was no one else, for all her beauty and for all the history they shared Yennefer didn’t hold his heart like this wildflower. He loved her, like one loves the sun while sitting in the shade on a hot day, loves her quick temper and how she has kindness in her veins, behind the cool façade she puts up.

But Jaskier… his bard, his friend, his flower. _His._

Jaskier is his. Ever since that day in Posada, he always has been, even when Geralt was too dumb to see it. Too blinded by the sun.

This winter creature with a soul of spring is his moon. And Geralt is just a foolish wolf, that never stood a chance of getting away.


End file.
